


All Over You, All Over Me

by Robespierre



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:04:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6454939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robespierre/pseuds/Robespierre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dex has his dorm room to himself for the weekend, and what starts out as an excuse to jerk off in privacy turns into 48 hours of self-discovery and self-doubt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Over You, All Over Me

College was supposed to be easier.  Well, not academically easier, but _easier_.

When guys on his high school team had gone on to college and come back to visit, they had always seemed so mature, so confident, so sure of themselves.  Dex couldn’t wait to finally get away to college and find some of that confidence for himself.  High school was a blast, but he thought that new people, a new team, and new routines could help him find what was missing at home.

Well, not exactly missing, more like…not quite right.  Dex has never felt quite settled in his own skin, never a hundred percent sure of who he is.  College was supposed to help that.   

He’s not supposed to be lying in his bed, night after night, not sure what the hell is going on.

But tonight’s not about self-discovery, it’s about – well, maybe it _is_ about self-discovery, he thinks, laughing to himself.

Dex’s roommate has gone home for the weekend, and even though the two of them get along as well as any two strangers forced to share a tiny space can get along, Dex has been looking forward to this for weeks.

He has always been surrounded by people.  He’s been playing organized sports since he could walk, he’s got siblings, and he’s currently a member of what he’s pretty sure is the fucking weirdest, touchy-feely-est team on earth.  He can count on one hand the number of times he’s been by himself for more than five minutes since he arrived at Samwell.  He just really wants to be _alone_.

But this weekend (which has magically coincided with their one practice-free weekend this month), he’s going to be alone for almost forty-eight glorious hours, and he’s going to take advantage of every minute.  He’s going to sleep in until noon and listen to music without headphones and watch whatever he wants on television and – and, well, jerk off _like it’s his job_.

He had never realized just how much living with somebody would affect his ability to jerk off.  His roommate is in the room what seems like all the time (seriously, the dude seems to leave only to go to class), so he’s had to settle for quick and silent in the middle of the night or quick and silent in the shower stall.  There’s basically no privacy in their floor’s bathroom, and the three showers are so disgusting that he has to wear shower shoes.  It’s basically the least sexy setting on Earth.

So here he is, full and a little sleepy after eating almost half of one of Bitty’s amazing peanut butter pies, ready to fall into his bed and make the most of this alone time.

He locks the door and strips down to just his boxers and socks.  It’s a little chilly in his room, so he burrows under his blankets.  He’s feeling so content for once that he thinks about just taking a nap, but the lure of all this uninterrupted time is too great.  He slips his hand into the waistband of his boxers, wincing a little at how cold his hand feels against the warm skin of his stomach.  He adds his other hand, just sort of warming them there on his stomach.           

There’s this girl in his freshman seminar that he thinks is into him, but he’s not sure.  She’s always sitting next to him, always asking to copy his notes, always touching him.

She asks him about the team all the time: what it’s like playing with Jack, what the Haus is like, how much they all work out.  She’s probably more into the idea of dating an athlete than she is into _him_ , but he wouldn’t mind at least giving it a shot.  Today she had on this dress with really tiny straps, and one kept slipping down her arm.  She has this tiny birthmark right below her jaw, and he just couldn’t keep his eyes off the curve of her neck and the slope of her shoulder.   

Damn.

Dex slips his now-warm hands into his boxers.  He bypasses his dick, which is a little chubbed up just from thinking about what it would be like to touch this girl.  Her skin is probably super soft, and he rubs at the tops of his thighs, imagining what her fingers would feel like on the sensitive skin right at the base of his hips.

He’s kissed girls before, he’s got his hands under a girl’s shirt, and he’s even received one really awful bj (seriously awful – she used so much teeth she practically bit it off) after his high school team won states, but he’s never really had the chance to be naked with a girl and just touch her.  Have her just touch him.

He moves one hand to cup his balls, still avoiding his dick.  Even though he’s all the way hard now, he’s going to draw this out as much as he can.  He rolls them between his fingers, pinching just a little bit to give him that tiny shivery shock of sensation that that he loves.

This girl, she’s probably into cute matching bra and underwear sets, probably with bows on them in all shades of pink and light purple.  Her legs have got to be so smooth, and he thinks that he’d probably like to start at her feet and work his way up, just touching all that skin that’s so different from his.

And god, her tits are amazing.  He ran into her one day when she was jogging on campus, and the way they moved while she ran – holy shit, he had to hold his backpack in front of himself like he hadn’t had to do since he was in middle school and first noticing girls.

He just _wants_.

After he’d satisfied his curiosity about how smooth she is (everywhere, he imagines), he’d want to use his mouth.  He doesn’t have an oral fixation, exactly, but his favorite part about the pretty limited makeout sessions he’s had so far has definitely been getting his lips all over the girls’ skin.  He loves necks and shoulders, and he’s pretty fucking sure that he would love getting his mouth wherever this girl would let him put it.  

He can’t handle waiting any longer, so he finally shimmies out of his boxers and wraps a hand around his dick.  He bites his lip against the moan that he wants to let out before he realizes that he doesn’t have to be quiet for once.  He groans as he relaxes his fist and drags his fingers up the sides.  It’s still too dry to really get into it, but it feels so good to just have all the time in the world to really work up to it.

He wonders what it’s like to get a girl’s underwear off.  Like, is it his responsibility, or will she do it for him?

Oh, shit, now he’s imagining this girl just grinning at him and slipping her underwear slowly down her tanned legs, saying some dumb porno shit like, “Come on, Dex, what are you waiting for?” and lying back down on the bed, and he has to reach between his bed and the wall for his hidden lotion, because that thought is so fucking hot that he needs it _right now_.

Shitty talks about going down on girls all the time; Dex thinks that he might love it even more than hockey, maybe more than he loves dropping some critical media literacy on the frogs.  He says that it’s honestly his favorite part of sex, and he’s always talking about the _smell_ , the _taste_ , the _sounds_ a girl will make when you’re as good at it as Shitty apparently is.

Dex is really _really_ ready to try it, ready to make a girl so wild that she’s practically begging for his dick.

So much for drawing this out.  He’s got himself going in such a great rhythm now that he’s not sure he could stop for anything.

He’s picturing himself between this girl’s legs, her so fucking gone for him that she’s wrapping her thighs around him, digging her feet into his back so hard that he can barely breathe.  She’d reach down and sink her fingers into his hair and just moan constantly and say shit like, “Oh, Dex, you’re so fucking good!”

He takes the hand not currently occupied in stroking himself to what’s promising to be a glorious orgasm and pulls it out of the covers to grab his own hair.  He fucking loves having his hair played with.

Like the other day when Ransom sprained his ankle and Dex had to take his place on the first PK unit.  BU didn’t get a single shot on goal on any of the three kills, and after the game, Ransom had pulled him into a huge hug.  That night when they were celebrating at the Haus and Ransom was just a little wasted, he kept ruffling Dex’s hair and telling him what a good job he had done and how proud he was of him and –

Oh oh _oh._

He’s coming before he even realizes it’s going to happen, his body jack-knifing as pleasure courses through him and a guttural moan bleeds from his lips.

What the fuck.

Oh, he did _not_ just get off while thinking about Ransom.  That is just too messed up.  

Except.

Except he did.

He’s suddenly exhausted, and all he wants is to close his eyes and forget that any of this ever happened, but two hours later he’s still just lying there, freaking out.  What the fuck just happened?

Even though it’s pretty late, he grabs his phone and texts the girl, asking her out for coffee.  She says yes right away, and he’s finally able to fall asleep, focused on getting laid and forgetting all about whatever weird shit just happened.  

 

* * *

 

He stops by the Haus in the morning, hoping that Bitty’s in the mood to make cinnamon buns, but no such luck.  Holster is sprawled out on the couch in the living room, half-watching old cartoons, but everybody else is either asleep or gone.

Holster lifts his arm for a fist-bump and pulls his legs back to make some room for Dex on the couch.  They sit in companionable silence for a while, occasionally laughing at Bugs Bunny.  It’s warm in the living room, and it’s basically the perfect setting to calm his nerves.

He’s never actually been on a one-on-one date before.  Yeah, there were some group outings to the movies, and he had a date for senior prom, but the whole team and their dates basically went together.  This will be the first time he’s spending time alone with a girl.

Holster digs his sock-covered toes into Dex’s side, and it’s like Samwell instills in them some kind of d-man psychic abilities, because he says, “It’ll be fine, man.  Don’t worry.”

It actually makes Dex feel better, though, so he thanks Holster as he heads out.

 

* * *

 

The date is fucking awful.  He thinks that they’re getting along pretty well, and she’s definitely giggling at his terrible jokes and touching his arm a lot, so it starts out really promising, but everything derails about half an hour in.  There’s a commotion at the door, and he looks up from their cozy corner (shit, everything had been going so well for him, right down to the most romantic spot in the whole café) to see Jack, Bitty, Shitty, and Holster jostling each other as they all attempt to fit through the doorway at the same time.

The girl’s face lights up, and she says, “Ooh, isn’t that your team?” and before he knows it, the guys are crowded around them and she’s pressed up against Jack, asking him question after question about his game, his practice schedule, and his dad.  Jack’s trying to be polite, but it’s clear that he’s annoyed.

Dex is more than annoyed.  He suspected that she might have been more into the idea of dating an athlete than specifically dating him, but having his suspicions confirmed hurts like hell.  It’s made even worse when he stands up and says goodbye to everyone, suddenly desperate to be out of there, and she _completely_ ignores him.

A hot wave of anger is crashing around in his body as he makes his way to the door.  He is _not_ going to cry in the middle of the coffee shop, but his eyes are definitely feeling a little hot.

_Fuck_.  What a fucking bitch.

He’s just made it out the door and is ready to head back to his room and fucking put his fist through something when somebody stops him by grabbing the back of his shirt and pulling him backwards.  He spins around, furious, ready to deliver a righteous verbal smackdown on whoever has dared to fuck with him.

It’s Ransom.

By the time Dex is completely turned around, Ransom has his hands up in surrender.

“Hey man, what’s going on?  You look awful.”

Dex is not in the mood for this.  He doesn’t want to talk it out, and he _definitely_ doesn’t want to talk to Ransom about it.  Just seeing his face brings back memories of last night’s weirdness, and Dex just wants to forget it ever happened.

Ransom has other ideas, though.  He looks at Dex for a few moments, then gently punches Dex’s shoulder and says, “Bro. Come with me.”

Dex doesn’t even stop to think about it; he just follows.  They wind their way through crowds of students enjoying the falling leaves and crispness in the air until Dex realizes they’re headed for the rink –  specifically, for the gym in the basement.  

Dex loves the cramped, mildewy room.  It’s amazing to have a professionally organized gym instead of the random hodgepodge of used equipment his high school had assembled.  He breathes a little easier just walking into the building.  

He’s surprised when Ransom doesn’t make a detour to the locker room to grab some workout clothes.  He must make some sort of questioning noise, because Ransom grins and says, “C’mon, just go with it.  I know what will make you feel better.”

It’s at that moment Dex realizes that he and Ransom had been walking together for almost ten minutes and that was the first thing either of them had said.  

“Sorry,” Dex tells him, feeling a sudden need to apologize.  “I didn’t mean to ignore you.  I’m just having an awful day.”

“I could tell,” Ransom chuckles.  “It’s okay, man, I’m going to fix it.”

Dex just barely contains the snort that threatens to escape his nose.  Ransom is definitely not going to ‘fix it.’  Unless he’s going to get Dex laid.  And that’s – _no_.

When the door swings closed behind them, they’re the only two people in the room. There’s usually some kind of music blaring in there, and the whole atmosphere is weird without it.  Ransom tugs on Dex’s shirtsleeve and pulls him toward the back of the gym and into an area that Dex has never really had much to do with.  

“Here,” Ransom says, throwing him a pair of training gloves.  “Kick its ass, Dexy.”

Dex slips the gloves on, wriggling his hands past the elastic wristbands.  He’s never really used a punching bag before.  There hadn’t been room for one in his house, and his high school didn’t have one, so he’s not entirely sure where to start.  

Ransom, noticing his hesitation, moves to stand beside his own bag and says, “Just hit it.  Think about whoever or whatever is pissing you off, and just _hit it_.”

Dex takes a deep breath, focuses on the tire fire that today has been, and swings.  

The vibrations jolt his whole arm, but it’s not painful.  He draws back with his other arm and swings again.  

It takes a little while to get into a good rhythm, but as soon as he hits it, it’s _glorious_.  He can practically feel the frustration pouring out of his body in time with the rhythmic slap of the neoprene gloves against the bag.  Once he finds that sweet spot, that perfect setup, he just can’t stop.  It’s easier than breathing to just keep punching.  

“Hold up,” Ransom says.  “I need a little break.”  

It’s not until then that Dex realizes just how hard they’ve been working.  Ransom had been encouraging him, and occasionally critiquing his technique, but he’d been working his own bag the whole time.  

“Sorry!” Dex tells him quickly.  “I didn’t realize that you’d be –”

“No, it’s cool,” Ransom interrupts him.  It’s a good workout for me too.  So, you feeling any better?”

Dex takes a moment to consider it and realizes that yeah, he is.  He loves the feeling of a good workout, and even though his arms are already aching, endorphins are flooding his body.  He could take on the world right now.  He grins, not caring if he looks stupid.  

Ransom chooses that moment to use his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.  He pulls the hem up and over his face, exposing his abs and pecs, and Dex practically swallows his own tongue.  It’s just – Ransom is so damn _ripped_ that Dex’s breath catches in his throat.  Ransom doesn’t notice Dex’s freakout as he drops his shirt back into place and walks to the sink to splash some cold water on his face.  

And holy shit, Ransom’s ass.  He’s wearing sweatpants, and they’re stretched thin over his ass as he bends over to stick his head under the faucet.  Objectively, there’s probably nothing special about his ass, but Dex is suddenly fucking _mesmerized_.  He can’t look away from the muscles shifting under the cotton of Ransom’s sweats.  The material is probably really soft, Dex thinks wildly.  If he were to just walk up behind Ransom and grab his ass, would he be freaked out or would he turn to Dex and –

What the actual fuck?  Dex shakes his head, trying to dislodge those fucked-up thoughts.  God, what has his life become?  When did his brain start trying to mess with him?

“So,” Ransom says after he’s stood and shaken the water from his face and hair, “Wanna do some more?”

“No, I’m good,” Dex tells him.  He’s amazed that he can still form a complete sentence.  “Thanks, man.  I really appreciate it.”

He’s being sincere.  Dex has always looked up to Ransom.  He’s basically everything that Dex wants to be in a defenseman, and Dex is genuinely honored that Ransom thinks he is worthy of his attention.

Ransom grins, slips his phone from his pocket, checks it, and says, “Hey, if you’re good, I’m gonna head back to the Haus.  You should come over for dinner.  Shitty says he and Jack are going to use the grill, so it should be hilarious.”

 

* * *

 

For a moment, Dex had considered going over to the Haus.  It’s always cool to hang out with the guys, and since they don’t have practice tomorrow, the alcohol is going to be flowing free.  But he decides quickly that he values his privacy this weekend more than he wants to wake up hung over yet again.  

He goes for a run just before sunset, trying to exhaust the stupid thoughts out of his brain.  

Why is he all of a sudden fantasizing about Ransom?  He’d thought he was past this shit, but here it is again: these weird thoughts that come out of nowhere and make no sense.  The kind of thoughts that had sometimes struck him in the locker room or hanging out with some of the older guys on his high school team.  This vague uncomfortableness at thoughts that he has always quickly tamped down because he is _not_ into guys.  He just _isn’t_.

Not that there’s anything wrong with people who are – after all, Dex loves Bitty – but he’s just _not_.

As his sneakers pound against the sidewalk, he turns up the volume on his music, but it can’t drown out his thoughts.  He grits his teeth against the hot sting in his eyes, and he hopes that anybody who sees him will think he’s just really sweaty.  

And now that he’s over-analyzing everything, he’s got even more to worry about.  Did he do something wrong with that girl?  Maybe it’s not that she was more into Jack than him – maybe she just wasn’t into him to start with.  He has no game.  He’s never been smooth at talking to girls, not like Shitty or Nursey are.  Dex is the weird angry kid who’s only ever been comfortable hanging out with his team.  He’s strange, he’s basically useless, and now he’s having all these stupid _thoughts_ that he just can’t stop and it’s going to _ruin everything_.

He runs his usual route twice, so by the time he drags himself back to his room, showers, and collapses onto his bed with his towel still wrapped around his waist, he’s hoping that he’ll be able to fall asleep early and wake up tomorrow morning to find that things are back to normal.  

He leans over and pulls a beer (thoughtfully purchased by Shitty) out of their minifridge.  He has no plans to actually get drunk, but one or two should help him fall asleep faster.  Actually drying himself off seems like too much effort, so he just undoes the towel and lets himself air-dry.

He’s asleep before he can even finish the can.  

 

* * *

 

He’s not sure exactly what time it is when a door slamming somewhere down the hallway wakes him.  It’s dark outside, but turning to check out his alarm seems like too much work.  He was in the middle of a great dream when he woke up, but he can’t remember what it was about.  He’s just left with a feeling of contentment, and he stretches and rubs his face against the pillow like he’s some kind of cat.  

He is so hard.  

At some point during the night, he had rolled over onto his stomach, and now he finds himself grinding against his slightly scratchy comforter.  His limbs feel heavy, and the only thing on his mind is maintaining the shivery pleasure that’s lighting up his entire body.  There’s no urgency here, just the desire to keep the feeling of his dream going for as long as possible.  

And _oh_ , it’s so good.  He pumps his hips in these long, languid movements, like he has all the time in the world.  He idly wonders if sex could ever feel like this or if it’s always just _go go go_ , like when you get in there you’re just concerned with getting off as fast as you possibly can.  Pressing his full weight into the mattress is a poor substitute for feeling another body against his, but he can just picture it.  How it would feel to be inside a girl, how her tits would press against his chest, how she would scratch his back and moan his name and say porn shit like, “Oh Dex, you’re going to make me come!”

He wants it so bad.  He wants to fuck into a girl while they’re kissing, he wants to watch a girl ride him, her tits bouncing as she – oh god – as she pinches her own nipples.  He wants to fuck a girl while they’re spooning so that he can just _grind_ into her until he comes – like he’s doing right now.      

It’s so good, this sticky-sweet warmth flowing through him, this slight haziness to everything that probably just comes from having just woken up but he wants to imagine comes from being completely blissed out on sex with a gorgeous girl.  

He wonders if that girl has any friends for him.  Maybe she could set him up with somebody who’s actually nice and wouldn’t force him to spend his afternoon beating the shit out of a punching bag with Ransom.  Ransom and his stupid abs.

And his ass.

And his bright smile.

And his pecs.

And his willingness to stop whatever he was doing just to make sure Dex was feeling okay, and –  

_What the fuck, no!_ He stops his hips mid-motion.

Dex cannot do this.  He tries to call to mind scenes from really filthy porn he’s seen, girls who had made him feel like he just couldn’t wait to get out there and _fuck_ somebody.  He thinks of tits and shaved pussies and POV videos where the girl’s eyes look up at you adoringly as they suck your dick.  

It’s enough to get him going again, thinking about long, smooth legs and soft skin, but it’s just a few seconds before Ransom is edging back into his thoughts.  The girl’s long hair turns to Ransom’s short cut, the soft tits are replaced with rock-hard pecs, and Dex is suddenly doing more sucking than fucking.  

He groans in frustration.  Why can’t he just be normal?  Why is his brain trying to make him get off to the thought of going down on a dude?  Why did that fucking girl blow him off for Jack?  Why can’t he be one of those guys who goes to a party and gets a bj from a girl in the bathroom and then takes her home for more?  Why is his life so fucking awful and complicated?  

Right now, it’s being made more awful and complicated by the fact that _he needs to come_.  He knows he’s going to be ashamed in the morning, but he can’t help it –  right now he’s weak and just wants to feel good, wants to escape from this feeling of _wrong wrong wrong_ that’s crushing him.  He’s got to come.  He’ll worry about what all of this means tomorrow.  

His first thrusts against the bed are tentative, and he’s deliberately trying to think of nothing even remotely sexy.  His comp prof with the constantly runny nose.  The fascinating mold he found under his brother’s canoe one spring.  The fart that had practically cleared the locker room that to this day no one will accept responsibility for.

It’s not working.  Thinking of possibly the worst thing he has ever smelled just reminds him how Ransom had fashioned a scarf for himself out of his wet towel.  The towel that had been wrapped around Ransom’s waist.  He had been naked and still dripping wet and _fuck_ – Dex can’t hold back a whimper as he grinds _just right_ into the mattress.  

Sweat is starting to pool at the small of his back, and he wonders if it’s enough to make bodies slide together.  Like if Ransom were behind him, thrusting into him, would their skin stick together or would they glide slickly against each other?  And holy shit, the thought of Ransom behind him, thrusting against him, is just so much more than he can handle right now.  He’s definitely not groggy anymore, and he’s throwing his whole body into humping the bed.  

One thing is becoming apparent: this isn’t enough.  He’s not going to be able to come this way.  He’s so frustrated that he wants to cry.  

He flips over onto his back and fumbles in the dark to find his lotion.  What the hell?  Why Ransom?  There are lots of guys on campus with good bodies (hell, he shares a locker room with almost two dozen of them).  And it’s not like he wants to kiss Ransom or date him or something, so maybe that makes this sort of okay, he tries to rationalize.  He’s sure that other people must do this sometimes.  He’s just appreciating the work that went into his buddy’s workout.  There’s nothing weird about it.  It doesn’t mean anything about him.  

But as he squeezes a glob of lotion directly onto his dick, he knows that it does mean something.  He’s not some mindless slave; he’s _choosing_ to wrap his hand around his dick while thinking about one of his teammates.  Last night was an accident.  This is purposeful.  He’s just not sure what that means.  

What would Ransom’s hand feel like on him?  He’s got these huge hands, but he’d probably start out gently, just the right amount of teasing.  Dex drags his fingers up and down his length, his mind racing with thoughts of how and where Ransom’s hands would touch him.  

He knows for sure that he wants Ransom’s fingers in his hair, scratching at his scalp and pulling a little.  Maybe that would feel good when Ransom’s tucked in behind him, rubbing his dick along the curve of Dex’s ass, and –  

The room is suddenly twenty degrees warmer than it was.  Dex is burning up.  He’s dying.  And all he can do is sink one hand into his hair and start to pump his dick with the other as his fantasies overtake him.  

Ransom on his back, smiling up at Dex, whispering, “C’mon baby, I’ll talk you through it.  It’s easy once you get the hang of it.  Just like skating.”  Ransom patiently teaching Dex how he likes his dick sucked.  What a dick would feel like in his mouth.  Fingers in his hair.  A hard body pressing him into the mattress, holding him down.  Teeth scraping against his neck, fingers trailing everywhere, a dick sliding between his closed thighs, a dick sliding – fuck – a dick pressing into him.  What Ransom smells like.     

Before he even realizes what’s happening, his thoughts have coalesced into an actual fantasy.  

_He and Ransom are back in the gym, and he’s working the bag again.  Ransom is wearing just sweatpants, and his skin is shining with sweat.  Dex is spending more time sneaking glances at Ransom than he is throwing punches, and Ransom finally catches him in the act._

_“See something you like?” he asks, leering._

_Dex wriggles his hands out of his gloves and tosses them on the floor.  He reaches out for Ransom, and Ransom’s reaching for him at the same time.  Ransom grabs his arm and drags him (not very gently) to the back of the room, into the little nook where the racks of dumbbells sit._

_“C’mon, Dexy,” he whispers, and pushes Dex to his knees.  “I know you want to.”_

_Dex nods as he sinks slowly to the ground.  He_ does _want to.  It’s all he wants._  

His panted breaths and the squelching sound of the lotion against his skin are the only sounds in the room.  Dex is so unsure about what’s happening that he’s practically holding his breath, and he feels like he’s going to shake right out of his skin.  He takes his hand from his hair and slides it down his chest, pausing to tweak each nipple.  It’s never done much for him before, but tonight it sends a little _zing_ of pleasure through him.  

_Ransom has him sitting on the Haus’ kitchen table, and he’s got Dex’s dick so far down his throat that he’s practically gagging on it.  Dex has his hands clasped around the back of Ransom’s neck, and when Ransom looks up at him, the look on his face is so unbelievably hot that Dex comes, shouting._  

He’s just about there.  All it will take is a few dozen furious strokes, but for some reason, his brain is telling him to just draw this out a little more.  His brain flits faster and faster through fantasies.    

_Ransom is on top of him, pinning his wrists to the bed.  Dex wants to touch him_ so bad _, but Ransom is running the show, and he says that Dex is just going to have to take whatever he gives him._

_He has Ransom bent over a chair, fucking him like it’s the only thing he knows how to do._

_Ransom drops his swim trunks and runs laughing into the ocean._

_“Are you ready?” Ransom whispers.  “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.”_

_Ransom grins at him from across the locker room as he strips out of his pads._

_“I’m ready,” Dex says.  “Fuck me.  Now.”_

_They’re huddled under the covers in Dex’s drafty bedroom at his parents’ house, wearing as many articles of clothing as possible to ward off the chill.  Ransom’s leg is tucked in between Dex’s, and his arm is around Dex’s chest.  They’re sharing the same pillow, which makes it simple for Ransom to lean in and press their lips together._

Holy shit.  Dex’s hand freezes on his dick.  Maybe he does want to kiss Ransom.  Maybe he wants to date him.  

“Goddammit,” he grits out.  “Fuck you, you asshole, why are you ruining my life?  Why can’t I be normal?  Fuck, Ransom –”

And that’s all it takes.  His hands, apparently newly possessed with minds of their own, resume their work, and he strokes himself roughly, his other hand scratching across his own chest in an attempt to somehow ground himself.  

“Ransom,” he groans again, though this time it’s not in anger.  “Fuck.  Fuck _me_.  Fuck me, Ransom!”

He knows he must be getting louder, but he can’t make himself care.  He’s so fucking close.  

How would Ransom finally make him come?  Would it be quick and dirty, or would he make Dex beg?  Would Ransom suck him off and then jerk it right at the end, or would he keep going and swallow?  Would he ever let Dex come on his face?

It’s that mental image (Ransom’s gorgeous face marked up by spatters of Dex’s come) that sends him over the edge.  The white-hot pleasure that’s been growing inside him flows from every part of his body to concentrate in his dick, and he comes, squeezing his eyes shut so tightly that he sees fucking fireworks behind his closed eyelids.  

Oh god, it just keeps going.  He can’t stop stroking himself, wringing every ounce of pleasure he can out of his body.  His hips lift from the bed as his head thrashes against his pillows.  For a split second, he’s honestly scared that this is the way he’s going to die: alone in his dorm room, covered in lotion and come – and completely and totally blissed out.

It takes him a long time to come down from it.  He’s usually able to fall asleep right after he comes, but tonight he’s stuck in some kind of feedback loop.  His whole body is shaking, and every brush of his oversensitive skin against his comforter has him writhing, desperately wanting somebody to touch him.  

It’s probably half an hour before he feels like his bed has stopped floating.  His head is completely, blissfully clear of any thoughts.  That had to have been the best orgasm of his life, and he’s amazed at how long the afterglow is lasting.  He shivers slightly and wriggles his way under his covers, and he falls asleep between one breath and the next.  The last thing he thinks of before he’s out is Ransom’s smile.  

 

* * *

 

When the sun poking through the opening between his curtains finally wakes him, Dex is certain that he’s going to throw up.  Two conflicting emotions are roiling within him.  There’s a hot, oily shame at what he did the night before.  Thinking about one of his teammates like that was completely unacceptable behavior, and he’s disgusted with himself.  But at the same time, there’s this strange growing sense of – he’s not even sure how to explain it – it’s almost a sort of excitement.  Of anticipation.  The way he feels on gamedays.   

If he’s truly being honest with himself, he has to admit that last night was – well, for as fucked up as it was, it was pretty great.  He’s obviously into Ransom, and as much as he definitely doesn’t want to be, he doesn’t think that it’s something that he’s going to be able to turn off.  Ransom is a huge part of his daily life, so he’s got to do something about it.  

But Dex isn’t gay, so he’s not sure what he could possibly do.   

( _Maybe you are_ , whispers a small part of his brain.   _Maybe you always have been._ )

He needs somebody to talk to.  He needs to get over to the Haus and talk to Bitty.  No, Bitty would probably just hug him and make it super awkward.  If he wants advice, he’s going to have to talk to Shitty.  

He has to shower again since he didn’t clean up before he fell asleep last night, and the whole time, he rehearses what he wants to say.  

“I’ve been having some weird feelings – like _sex_ feelings – about somebody and I don’t know what to do.  I think I might like them.  Him.  But I’m not into guys, so I don’t know what it means, and I’m just so confused and angry all the damn time and I know that I can’t go on feeling like this because it could really fuck up the team, and –”

Shit, he can’t lay that all on somebody.  It makes him sound crazy.  

The walk to the Haus feels like a walk to a final exam he hasn’t studied for, but as he’s almost there, he realizes something.  These guys have welcomed him unconditionally into their lives.  He’s closer to them than he is to his actual brothers.  And the all love Bitty _so much_.  Maybe, just maybe, it might be okay if Dex did like guys.  Or a guy.  Maybe they’ll still like him.  Maybe this is the only chance he’s going to get to figure out who he is.

But he _doesn’t_ like guys.  He’s just really fucking messed up right now, and he needs help figuring out how to make it go away.  

Bitty cheers when Dex walks in, and Jack nods in his direction, looking like he hasn’t been awake very long.  

“Lunch is almost ready, Dex!” Bitty says.  “Just give me a couple of minutes.”

Dex would normally ask if there’s anything he can do to help, but he’s on a mission, and he’s scared of losing his nerve.

“Is Shitty here?” he asks.    

“In his room,” Jack grunts, eyeing the oven as though he can will whatever’s in it to cook faster.  

Dex climbs the stairs, repeating _it’s gonna be fine it’s gonna be fine it’s gonna be fine_.  His breathing speeds up a little, and he can feel his heart pounding.  But he needs help, and Shitty is probably the best, least-threatening person he could ever ask.  

Shitty’s door is closed, so he takes a deep breath and lifts his hand to knock.  Right before his knuckles make contact with the wood, he hears his name.  

“Dex!  How’s it going, man?  Better than yesterday?”

Of course it’s fucking Ransom.  

Dex turns slowly to face him, and something must show on his face, because Ransom’s moving all up in his personal space, and he doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around Dex and hugs him as hard as he can.  

He’s completely frozen.  He can’t do anything but catalogue how Ransom’s body feels against his: the press of their chests, the smell of Ransom’s cologne, and the feeling of his cheek against the side of Dex’s neck.  He never wants Ransom to let go.  At the same time, he wants nothing more than for this hug to never have happened.  

“It’s gonna be okay.  Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help, eh?” Ransom says as he squeezes Dex one final time before letting him go.  

“I’m fine,” Dex manages to choke out.  “I’m actually here to talk to Shitty.”  

Shitty opens his door just in time to hear Dex.  “Advice, huh?  Well, come on in.”

“Take care of him, bro,” Ransom tells Shitty.  “I can’t stand to see him look so upset.”

Ransom punctuates his words by ruffling Dex’s hair.  His fingers scratch over Dex’s scalp, and Dex can barely hold back a moan.  

Ransom continues down the hallway, having absolutely no idea of the reaction he’s just stirred in Dex.  Dex wants to scream.  Why does he have to be like this?  What is wrong with him?

Shitty gestures toward his chair and pulls the door shut behind him.  

“So, Poindexter, what can I do for you?”

This is it.  He’s going to do it.  He’s terrified.  He has no idea what’s going to come out of his mouth.   

“Dex?  Are you okay?”

He takes a deep breath.   

“Shitty, can you give me some tips on talking to girls?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot title anything to save my life, so this is from Live's "All Over You."
> 
> This is my first Check, Please! work, so please let me know what you think.


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